At the Beginning
by StarryDreamer01
Summary: Sam Swarek is a trouble maker, destined to flunk out of school. What will send him on a path toward police services?


A/N: I owe this one to **ZestyLily12** who, in response to "White Whale," asked for an early Sam story. I was inspired by her suggestion and out came this story! I hope you enjoy!

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Sam Swarek was a trouble maker. When he was inevitably sent down to see his vice principal, even the secretaries had given up on giving him too much grief. When he'd enter the office, the head secretary would usually just sigh, shake her head, point to a chair and say his name warningly, "_Samuel_."

He was convinced she did that on purpose. He hated being called Samuel and she did it every time. "_Samuel_ Swarek is here to see you again," she'd say into the phone, presumably calling Mr. Rusica, his vice principal. Within minutes Mr. Rusica would poke his head out of his office and wave his fingers, motioning him in. And like the hundred times previously, Sam would gather up his things and follow him into his office.

"Again, Sam? I feel like I should put a plaque on that chair with your name on it, you come here so often." Mr. Rusica leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. "Whadya do this time?" Sam shrugged, remaining silent. "Sam, do I need to call your sister in here?"

Sam sighed, frustrated. He hated when they threw that threat at him. The last thing he needed was for Sarah to come to the school. Every time she'd come in, he'd face a week of torment from his classmates which usually resulted in him getting into fights and ultimately getting suspended. "No," he admitted.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I swore at Mr. Gillingham," he said at last, slumping in his chair.

"You swore at him?" Mr. Rusica repeated. Sam nodded. "Now why'd you do a stupid thing like that?"

Sam shrugged and remained silent, choosing instead to take whatever punishment Mr. Rusica was planning on doling out. Even if he did explain what had really happened, no one would believe him.

"You're not going to tell me are you?" Sam shrugged again. What he wasn't telling Mr. Rusica was that after finally deciding to put some effort into his Computers and Technology class and completing Mr. Gillingham's assignment, he'd been accused of plagiarizing. When Sam tried to explain that it was, in fact, his own work, Mr. Gillingham assigned him a zero just the same, refusing to believe him. A frustration had swelled up inside of him and he'd let loose a few choice words in front of the class.

"Sam, I can suspend you, I can give you detentions until I'm blue in the face, but it all comes down to _you_. You need to make the change in yourself. So tell me, what is going to make you change?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. He hated the stupid pep talks that Mr. Rusica always seemed to give him. In all honesty, he was over high school and the bullshit that came along with it. But he had just under two years to endure and then maybe he could get a job at J.T's uncle's mechanic shop. If he could, he'd drop out, but Sarah had made him promise to finish school. "I want you to get your diploma on a stage with balloons and banners and stuff," she'd explained once. While she'd never explicitly said why, he'd figured it was because she'd been unable to attend her own graduation due to her anxiety. And so, he'd sworn to her that he'd finish school first, but it was proving to be a bigger feat than he'd imagined.

"What are your goals, Sam?" Mr. Rusica asked. "What do you plan on doing with your life?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe become a mechanic."

"Well if you keep it up, you're going to become a mechanic for a particularly unsavoury bunch of people." He stabbed his finger against Sam's file on his desk. "Figure it out Sam. Preferably sooner rather than later, because if you keep adding to this file one day I'm going to find your picture on the cover of the Toronto Star. And it won't be for good reasons either."

**oOo**

"I'm home!" Sam called out as he leaned his skateboard against the wall by the door and kicked off his shoes. As usual, only the murmur of the television greeted him. "Hey Sarah," he said, rounding the corner into the living room. His sister, with her long dark hair snaked into a messy ponytail atop her head, remained silent, seemingly entranced by the television.

Clearly it was one of those days. "Mac and cheese okay with you?" He asked in an attempt to maintain some semblance of normality. His question was met with silence. Three years ago their mother had died after a long battle with cancer when Sarah was 18 and Sam 14. Since their dad was incarcerated, Sarah took over as Sam's guardian in an attempt to avoid having him placed with Child & Protective Services.

There were dark days and light days. On the light days Sarah was the sister he remembered. She'd drive him to the skate park in Etobicoke and cheer him on as he tried new tricks. For dinner she'd make homemade pizza just the way he liked it— with pepperoni and sausage. On the dark days she'd retreat within herself, staring ahead, her attention affixed to some unknown spot on the wall. If she tried to leave the house, within minutes she was a quivering mess; a shell of who she used to be, grabbing at her pills with shaking, desperate hands. If, perchance, CPS would visit on the dark days, Sam would herd Sarah into her room and coax her into fresh clothes. He'd usually lie on her behalf and say that she had the flu or bronchitis or some other mystery aliment. So far, they'd managed to escape detection. He had one year left until he was released from the system. Just one more year and they would be free from the spot checks, investigations and inquisitions.

He pulled a box of Kraft dinner from the cupboard shelf and began to boil the water. As he poured the noodles into the pot, he heard the TV turn off. "Sammy?" Sarah's voice echoed in the hall.

"In here."

"Hey kid. Making dinner?" She asked, rubbing her eyes. "Did I…?"

Sam nodded. "It's okay. Dinner will be done soon."

"How was school?" Sarah pulled a glass from the dish rack and filled it with water. Sam shrugged and said nothing. "Did you get that project back that you were working on?"

He shook his head, lying. "Can you grab the strainer?" He asked in an attempt to change the subject. Sarah complied and held it over the sink as he drained the water from the pot.

"You going out tonight?" Sarah asked.

Sam shrugged again. "J.T. and a few guys from Central Tech wanted to try out the steps over at St. George and Bloor. Apparently they just cleaned them so they should be a little more slick."

"Jesus, Sam. You be careful. All I need is for you to crack your head on a railing," she reached up and tussled his thick hair. "You'll never get a girlfriend if you have a big ugly scar."

Laughing, he pushed her hand away. "Shut up! You know that even if I had a scar girls wouldn't be able to resist this swagger." He shook his hips to make his point. "You could come and watch if you wanted."

Sarah pursed her lips, the right side rising up as though her answer might be different than the 600 other times he'd asked. "Not St. George," she said shaking her head, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know. Maybe next time?" He offered.

Handing him a plate, she nodded unconvincingly. "Yeah, maybe."

**oOo**

J.T. had been right: the steps off St. George Street were slick, the perfect conditions for Hard Flips. As the bustle of the work day came to an end, the sidewalk became increasingly more populated. Sam, J.T. and the four guys from Central Tech would weave their way through the crowds of suits and skirts heading toward the subway.

"Who wants to earn fifty bucks?" A floppy haired, blonde kid named Shane asked, skidding his board to a stop.

"Who doesn't?" J.T. asked with a snort. "I'm still trying to pay off my mom for backing her car into the garage door." He hollered, laughing at his own accomplishment.

"I dare you all to weave between those cars over there," Shane pointed to the busy intersection of St. George and Bloor. "Then do a heel flip and sail out across. First one to do it in under a minute gets the cash."

Sam stared at the intersection. As the work day was coming to a close traffic was snarling to a stop. Cars were beginning to get stuck in its center as they tried to make a last ditch effort to turn onto St. George. "Don't you think it's a bit dangerous?" Sam asked.

"Don't be such a kill sport!" Shane said, punching him on the shoulder. "Seriously Sammy. If you're too chicken to do it, the fifty can go to someone else."

Sam squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not chicken."

"Whatever buddy," scoffed Trevor, a second kid from Central Tech. "Honestly I don't even think you have the stones to pull off a stunt like that. You're probably afraid your whacked out sister is going to find out and ground you."

Sam's jaw clenched and he balled up his fist. Sensing the rising tension, J.T put his hand on his friend's shoulder, calming him momentarily.

"Don't be a hard ass," he said in defence of his friend. "I dare you to do it first."

Trevor looked over at Shane as though he needed confirmation from his wingman. Shane nodded, holding up the $50 bill. "Right. Let's do this then." Trevor flipped his board onto the sidewalk and quickly stepped upon it. With ease he manoeuvred himself toward the intersection, the remaining boys quickly following behind him.

Sam watched as Trevor pushed out into the intersection, the cars at a standstill as they waited for the light to change. He dove between two cars, his skill on the board evident. A horn honked and a muffled voice yelled out in anger as Trevor laughed and continued on. The light changed and traffic began to move; Trevor remained undeterred. He pushed himself into the intersection and played as though he wasn't going to test the vehicles crossing through. One car took Trevor at his honour and made a move to cross northbound. Trevor twisted his board and daringly pushed himself toward the front end of the car. The driver made an abrupt turn to the right, blinded by Trevor's sudden movement. That action confused the driver who had been headed westbound. His car jutted to an abrupt stop, bumping the car at its left.

Trevor dove between the third car, the second propelled into the middle of the intersection by a blind hit and spun out. As Sam shouted to Trevor, a truck veered into the intersection and smashed into the car, hitting it head on.

The sounds of glass shattering, metal crunching and tires screeching were eclipsed by screams from the people on the sidewalk who'd watched it happen.

"Go! Go!" Sam wasn't sure who said it first, but before he could even react he saw Trevor, Shane, J.T. and the other two guys from Central Tech take off on their boards.

"Sammy!" Screamed J.T., who'd stopped momentarily. "Sammy! We have to go!" He waved frantically to his friend. "Come on!"

It was as though Sam's feet were glued into place. His fingers had become numb as he clutched at his skateboard. He knew he should leave with the others, but something held him in place, forcing his attention toward the intersection where the mangled, smoking remains of a Honda lay.

"You're on your own Sammy!"

The dark face of a woman appeared in the frame of the window of the Honda. Her cries muffled by the incessant wailing of a broken horn. Her fist pounded against the window. She was trapped. The passenger door plugged by the truck that had hit her, her driver's side a mess from the initial impact.

Suddenly Sam felt himself propelled toward the car, as though his feet had a mind of their own. He pulled at the handle, nothing budged. The woman continued to bang her fists against the window, her words now clearer. "Help me!" She cried.

Sam motioned toward his skateboard and yelled for the woman to get down. She nodded, fear evident across her face as she ducked away from the window. Sam lifted his board and brought it down heavily against the window. It bounced back, knocking him off balance.

_What the hell, is this bullet proof glass?_ He thought to himself as he raised his skateboard for a second try.

"Kid, look out!" A voice in the melee cried out warningly. Sam didn't have enough time to register what the person had been referring to or if in fact he was talking to him. The blast hit him so hard that he felt himself flying in the air. A searing pain ran the length of his exposed skin. He fell hard on his rear, his back meeting the pavement with a thump. For a moment the world seemed to go black. When he opened his eyes and saw the reddish sky of the setting sun, marred by black debris falling around him.

A brusque hand lifted him from the ground. "Stand up!" The man ordered, his voice shrill and painful against the quickening thump beginning in Sam's head. Groggily, he complied, the man's hand firmly secured around his arm. "Legs apart," he ordered, kicking Sam's feet apart so that he stood wide. "Hands behind your back, lean forward." _What is going on?_ The world seemed to be spinning on its axis. A cold metal hit his wrists. "You are under arrest. Do you understand? You have the right to retain and instruct counsel without delay…" The words were becoming a jumble. _He was under arrest? How? Why? _

The officer led him toward the police cruiser, his arms pinned behind him. It was oddly difficult to walk and he had the sudden irrational fear that he was going to fall flat on his face with nothing to stop him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught fire fighters extinguishing the very car he'd just been at. As he tried to twist away from the officer to get a better look, he was pushed into a squad car.

"What's your name, son?" Asked a second, much older officer who'd leaned down to speak to him through the open door.

"Sam Swarek."

"Swarek? You wanna spell that one out for me?" His wrinkled brow creased, his voice calm among the chaos around them.

Sam spelled out his last name, his voice seeming almost unfamiliar and foreign.

"Well Sam, we've got to take you down to the station, ask you a few questions. I'm going to send a medic over to check you out first though. You okay?"

Sam nodded. A medic came over to the squad car and Sam was briefly uncuffed as he was looked over. The first officer stood by and watched, waiting. Once he was cleared, the door to the squad car was closed and the older officer climbed into the front seat and started the car.

Sam leaned forward, his nose practically against the wiring that separated the front seats from the back. "The lady that was in the car? Is she okay?"

The older officer shook his head. 'Fraid not, son."

**oOo **

Sarah reached for the paper cup filled with water, her hand trembling so much that some splashed out onto the table. Sam quickly wiped it away with the palm of his hand. She steadied her breath and gave her brother a grateful look. He took her hand in his, trying to calm her and keep her focused on the here and now.

The door to the interrogation room opened, the bright industrial lights from the hallway briefly filled the room, bouncing off of the mirror that spanned the length of one of the walls.

The older officer dropped his folders on the table and leaned forward. "I don't believe we've met," he said to Sarah. "I'm Officer Tommy McNally."

She quickly wiped her sweaty palm against her jeans. "Sarah Swarek," she said, offering her hand. Officer McNally shook it and took a seat.

"Firstly, I just want you to know that Sam here has been cleared. Witnesses said that he wasn't the one that caused the accident and in fact say he tried to help one of the victims." McNally gave Sam an approving look, nodding his head. "You should be very proud."

"I don't understand then. Why are we here?" Sarah asked.

McNally laid out a series of images before them. "You see, according to these traffic cam photos, these are Sam's friends." Sam's eyes remained cast down, staring at the metal table. "We'd like him to tell us who this guy is," he pointed to a spot on the photo.

"Sam?" Sarah asked, gently. "Do you know who that is?" He shrugged. Sarah looked to Officer McNally, shaking her head. "Sam you have to tell the police officers if you know who caused all this."

Sam remained silent. _They'd never believe me anyway_, he thought.

"Would you mind, Miss Swarek, if I had a minute alone with Sam?" Officer McNally nodded, as if to say that she could trust him.

Sarah's pale face flushed slightly, conflicted.

"I promise, I just want to talk to him." His face softened. "Trust me."

Sarah nodded and gave Sam's hand a squeeze. "I'll wait in the hall, okay?"

Officer McNally held the door open and escorted her into the hall. "It'll be just a few minutes," he said. Sam turned just in time to see her put her hand to the wall to steady herself.

When the door closed, McNally turned his attention to Sam. "Listen to me, you did a good thing out there. From what I hear you tried to save that lady in the car. But if you don't tell us who this is, you're letting someone who caused her death get away. Scott free. Is that something you want weighing on your chest?"

After a beat, McNally continued. "You seem like a good kid. Don't think I didn't notice the way you were looking after your sister there. Poor girl was shaking like a leaf. I bet you take care of her at home too, don't you?"

Hesitant, unsure of where the officer was headed, Sam nodded.

"What I said earlier, that you wouldn't be charged for causing the accident was true. But if you don't tell us who this guy is, you will be forcing my hand. I will have to charge you with impeding a police investigation." Sam remained quiet, undeterred by the threat.

McNally decided to try a different tactic. "What if that woman in the car had been your sister? Would you still keep quiet?" McNally sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

Sam thought about what the officer had told him. He was right. He'd do anything to protect Sarah. Anything.

With his mother gone and his father in jail, she was all he had. He'd made it his mission to protect her and defend her since he'd been 9 years old and had heard her crying through his bedroom wall. That night, when he'd gone to see if she was okay, he'd found her battered and bruised and shaking in the corner of her room. He'd immediately ran to her side calling for their mother. It was through her sobs that the truth had come out; the police were called and from that day forward Sarah had never been the same.

He imagined what the family of the woman from the car must be going through. Her face, pleading with him through the seemingly impenetrable glass, haunted him. He'd been apart of what had happened to her that day and he didn't know if he could forgive himself for it.

"His name is Trevor. He goes to Central Tech." Sam relented, pointing to the photo. "That's all I know. I met him for the first time today."

McNally gave a small smile. "You did the right thing, Sam. The right thing." He gathered up the photos and tucked them back into the file folder. "Let's get out of here." He led Sam to the door of the interrogation room and held it open. Sarah, on the other side, breathed a sigh of relief to see her brother.

"Everything okay?" She asked, reaching for his arm.

Sam looked up at the officer. McNally nodded. "You've got a brave little brother there, Sarah. You should be real proud of him."

She smiled and tussled Sam's hair. "I am." She laughed, relaxing for a brief moment. "I've been trying to convince him to look into apply to Police Foundations. Always imagined him as the type to bust down doors and arrest criminals." Sam reddened.

McNally laughed. "I wouldn't doubt it." He patted Sam on the shoulder. "You should grab a pamphlet on your way out, kid. We'd love to have someone like you on our side. You could make a real difference, you know that?" Stunned Sam was silent, nodding absently at the comment.

The remaining few minutes were a blur as Officer McNally led them to the front desk and bid them goodbye. Sam couldn't get the image of himself in a police uniform out of his head. He'd never considered it before, having always been told by people that he was too introverted, too troublesome, too much of a failure to accomplish anything substantial.

Sarah had always encouraged him to follow his dreams, but she was his sister. She'd say she was proud of him even if he was sweeping up grime from the alleyways. This was the first time someone else had suggested that he could be something; that he could help others.

Just as they were about to exit the police station, wordlessly, Sam turned and ran back into the waiting area. Immediately he saw what he was looking for.

"Protect & Serve," the heading read. He snatched at a copy and stuffed it in his pocket. It'd be a long shot, he thought to himself, but worth it if he could do something, anything to make up for what had happened that day.

When he'd returned to his sister, she gave him a quizzical look. "Where'd you run off to?"

Sam shook his head and offered a small smile. "No place. Just wanted to grab something to read on the way home."

In spite of her confusion, Sarah nodded.

"Do you think Mr. Rusica would let me transfer out of my Computers class?" Sam asked as he waited for her to release the locks on the car door.

"Oh? What were you thinking of taking instead?"

Sam shrugged and ducked his head, avoiding eye contact. "I dunno. I was thinking… you know… maybe trying Law."

Sarah smiled, knowingly. "I think you'd be good at serving and protecting too, Sammy."

**.:FIN:.**

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